The fresh air hit them like a wave of relief as they stepped out of the Maw, their lungs greedily drinking it in after the oppressive weight of the Hydra's domain. The group stood high above the land, their eyes sweeping across the breathtaking and unsettling view of the Shadowfern. The landscape was like nothing they had ever seen—patches of dark green and purple grass stretched out like veins of corruption, twisted and gnarled trees clawed toward the sky, and in the far distance, the faint outline of a massive ruin stood tall. The city of Kel, its ancient spires jagged and broken, loomed like a phantom on the horizon.
"That's where we're heading," Thal said, his deep voice cutting through the momentary silence. He stood at the edge of the cliff, gazing down the sheer drop that led into the Shadowfern below. His tone carried no hesitation, only a quiet certainty that this was the path they needed to take.
Luken glanced at him before returning his attention to the city in the distance. With a subtle gesture, his magic flickered to life, masking his horn and Kruul eye once more. His familiar appearance returned, but his heart was still racing from the encounter with the Hydra.
"That place doesn't exactly scream 'welcome home,'" Valen muttered, folding his arms.
"It's safer than you think," Thal replied, stepping forward. He crouched, placing one massive hand against the rocky edge of the Spine. "Come on, we're climbing down."
Before anyone could respond, Thal leaped off the edge. The rush of wind tore at his clothes, and the grinding scrape of his hand carving into the stone filled the air as he controlled his descent with brutal precision. His massive frame plunged downward, the air rushing past him. He extended his arm, his hand gripping the rock face of the Spine. Sparks flew as his hand carved into the stone, creating a rough path along the side of the mountain. He slid downward with practiced ease, controlling his descent as if he'd done it a thousand times before.
"Is he serious?" Luken asked, his jaw dropping slightly.
Valen hesitated, looking down at the dizzying drop. "You know, I was just getting used to the idea of staying alive..." he muttered.
Tar didn't wait for an answer. With surprising agility for someone his size, the minotaur leapt from ledge to ledge, his hooves striking solidly against the rock. His massive frame moved with a predator's grace, black fur dusted with limestone as he descended, claws finding purchase where boots would have slipped. He reached the bottom seconds after Thal, rolling his massive shoulders as he landed, nostrils flaring wide to scent the air of the Shadowfern below.
Nyra stepped forward next, her hands tightening on the straps of her axe. She looked over her shoulder at Luken and Valen, her expression hard but encouraging. "Keep up," she said before following Thal's carved path, using her strength to scale down the precarious slope with a controlled descent. Valen followed reluctantly, grumbling under his breath about how nobles didn't train for this kind of thing.
Luken hesitated a moment longer before shaking his head and following suit. "He's going to get us killed one of these days."
The descent wasn't easy, but the group managed to make their way down without incident. At the bottom, Thal stood waiting for them, arms crossed. Tar stood slightly apart, his head tilted back, eyes closed, sampling the air with deep, rhythmic breaths—checking for threats while the others gathered.
As they gathered around him, Luken stood frozen, staring at Thal's hands—dusty with limestone powder, but entirely unmarked. No blisters. No blood. No shattered bone.
The mage's own fingers twitched involuntarily toward his sternum, where his Node pulsed warm and familiar against his ribs. Thal had nothing. No conduit. No channels for the fog to find, just as Vivin had said back in Oakvale. Just flesh that refused to break.
"He shouldn't exist," Luken whispered. Not to Nyra, not to Valen—just to the air, to the fundamental wrongness of what he'd witnessed. "The stone should have shattered him. The force of it..."
"And yet," Valen said, sheathing his blade with a sharp click, "there he stands. Ten feet tall and blocking the wind. Practical observation beats academic theory, mage. Move on."
Luken didn't move. He was still staring at his own palms—soft, uncalloused, utterly dependent on the thaumic framework that made him work. "Vivin said the fog finds the cracks. The weak points in stone." He looked up at Thal, and for the first time since they'd met, there was fear in his eyes. Not of Thal's strength, but of his emptiness. "You don't have any cracks at all, do you?"
"Wrong," Thal interrupted, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Or incomplete." He turned away, dismissing the conversation. "The world is filled with what you call impossibilities, Luken. Freak out about a Nephilim if you must, but know this—there are worse things walking these lands than a man without a Node."
Luken closed his mouth. He cast one last look at Thal's unbroken hands, then at the rocky path they'd descended—furrowed with ten-foot gouges as if the mountain were made of butter. He didn't speak again as they gathered their gear, but his hand never strayed far from his chest, as if checking that his own heart—his own magic—was still there. He glanced back, golden eyes catching the light. "Now move. We're losing daylight."
Luken stood there a moment longer, mouth open, but Nyra was already walking, and Valen was already complaining about the terrain. Tar fell into step beside Luken, his massive shadow falling over the mage. The minotaur didn't speak—he never did—but he made a low, rumbling sound in his chest, almost like distant thunder, and gestured with one thick finger toward the path ahead. The meaning was clear: Walk. Stay close.
They set off into the Shadowfern, a land that felt like it belonged to a world far removed from anything they had known. The air was thick and damp, carrying an earthy, almost metallic scent. The ground beneath their feet alternated between patches of dark green and the ominous purple grass that seemed to shimmer faintly, almost as though it were alive. Twisted, leafless trees arched overhead, their warped branches forming eerie silhouettes against the dim sky.
Nyra led the way with her axe slung over her shoulder, her sharp eyes scanning their surroundings. Luken followed close behind, occasionally muttering spells under his breath to light their path or push away the creeping vines that seemed to grow in their way. Valen trudged in the middle, his usual bravado dampened by the oppressive atmosphere of the fen, while Tar brought up the rear, his heavy footsteps surprisingly quiet on the spongy ground. The minotaur walked backward every few paces, eyes gleaming in the dim light, watching for pursuit.
Thal walked slightly ahead of the group, his massive form cutting an imposing figure as he navigated the terrain with practiced ease. His eyes constantly darted around, taking in every detail of the landscape. He didn't trust the Shadowfern, even if he had walked it many times before.
"Anyone else feel like we're being watched?" Valen asked, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
"We are," Thal said simply, not breaking stride.
"Great. That's comforting," Valen muttered, glancing nervously at the gnarled trees and the occasional shadow that seemed to move just beyond his line of sight.
"What's watching us?" Nyra asked, her voice steady but low.
"Everything," Thal replied.
"That's... vague," Luken said, his brow furrowing as he stepped over a patch of particularly vibrant purple grass.
Thal stopped suddenly, holding up a hand to silence them. He turned his head slightly, his keen senses picking up something the others couldn't hear.
"What is it?" Nyra asked, tightening her grip on her axe.
"Quiet," Thal said, his voice barely above a whisper.
The group fell silent, their breathing the only sound as they strained to listen. For a moment, there was nothing but the faint rustle of the wind through the trees. Then they heard it—a low, guttural growl that seemed to come from all around them.
"What the hell is that?" Valen asked, his voice shaking slightly.
Thal's eyes narrowed. "Fernstalkers. They hunt in packs. Stay close, and don't make any sudden movements."
The growls grew louder, and the shadows between the trees seemed to shift and writhe. Suddenly, a pair of glowing yellow eyes appeared in the darkness, followed by another, and another. The Fernstalkers emerged, their sleek, black forms almost blending perfectly with the shadows. They were wolflike creatures, but their bodies were elongated and twisted, with sharp, jagged spines running down their backs.
"Do they attack on sight?" Luken asked, readying a spell in his hand.
"Not unless we give them a reason," Thal said, his voice low and calm. He stood tall, his presence commanding, as he met the gaze of the closest Fernstalkers. "Don't break formation. Just keep moving."
Tar moved closer to the center of the group, his massive form a wall of black fur and muscle. He positioned himself slightly behind Luken and Valen, his horns lowered but not threatening—ready to charge if the creatures lunged, but calm enough not to provoke them. His tail swished once, twice, then went still.
The group started walking again, slowly and deliberately. The Fernstalkers followed, their growls a constant reminder of the danger that surrounded them.
Nyra glanced over her shoulder at one of the creatures, her grip tightening on her axe. "If they're going to attack, I'd rather it be now."
"They won't," Thal said. "Not yet."
The tension was palpable as the group continued through the Shadowfern, the Fernstalkers shadowing their every move. Each step felt heavier than the last, the oppressive atmosphere of the fen weighing on them. Tar walked with deliberate care, placing each hoof to avoid snapping twigs, his ears rotating independently to track the pack's movements around them.
Finally, after what felt like hours, the creatures began to fall back, their glowing eyes disappearing one by one into the shadows.
"They're gone," Valen said, exhaling a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
Thal glanced back at the group, his voice steady but edged with urgency. "They're gone for now, but don't get comfortable. We need to reach Kel before nightfall."
Nyra frowned, glancing toward the dim horizon where the faint outline of Kel's ruins loomed. "Why before night? We can handle a few oversized dogs."
Thal stopped walking and turned to face her, his expression dead serious. "Those weren't just oversized dogs, Nyra. Fernstalkers are dangerous in the day, but at night, they change. They grow larger, faster, more aggressive. You don't fight Fernstalkers at night—you survive them if you're lucky."
Valen raised an eyebrow, trying to mask his nervousness with sarcasm. "Bigger? Wonderful. Because the tiny ones we just saw weren't terrifying enough."
"They won't just shadow us after dark," Thal continued, ignoring Valen's tone. "They'll hunt. They'll wait until you're tired, until you're separated. Then they'll strike. If you want to fight them at their strongest, go ahead and slow down—but if you want to live, we move."
That settled the matter. The group quickened their pace, the weight of Thal's words hanging over them like a storm cloud. The Shadowfern seemed to darken as they walked, the sun's light dimming faster than it should. Every now and then, a distant growl or the snap of a twig would make them jump, but the Fernstalkers didn't reappear.
Luken glanced up at the twisted branches overhead, their jagged shapes casting eerie shadows across the ground. "How far is Kel from here, exactly?"
"Far enough that we can't waste time," Thal replied without looking back.
Tar gave a low grunt, his massive hands occasionally brushing aside hanging vines as they pressed forward. When they passed beneath a low-hanging branch that dripped with some foul, phosphorescent sap, Tar shouldered it aside rather than let it touch the others, the bark hissing where it contacted his fur. He shook it off with a snort, unharmed.
Nyra walked just ahead of Valen, her axe in hand and her sharp eyes scanning the path for any signs of danger.
"Can't we use some kind of shortcut?" Valen asked, his tone half joking. "Maybe cut through the creepy purple grass or climb one of these lovely dead trees?"
"If you want to die faster, be my guest," Thal said flatly. "The grass might look harmless, but it'll paralyse you if you step on the wrong patch, and the trees? Poisoned bark. Touch one long enough, and you'll wish the Fernstalkers got to you first."
Valen sighed, shaking his head. "This place gets more charming by the minute."
The group fell silent again as they marched on, each of them focused on the goal ahead.
The oppressive heat of the fen clung to their skin, making every step feel heavier. Above them, the twisted canopy grew denser, and a low mist began to rise from the ground, curling around their legs like grasping fingers. The ruins of Kel, still distant, seemed to waver like a mirage in the haze.
As the sun began to sink lower, Thal's voice cut through the silence. "Keep moving. Don't stop for anything. The moment the sun dips below the horizon, this place changes."
Nyra glanced at him, her brow furrowed. "What about you? Are you afraid of them?"
Thal's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "The Fernstalkers don't scare me, but I've learned not to underestimate what they can do to a group that isn't ready."
The group pressed on, the air growing colder as the shadows stretched longer. Every sound—the snap of a twig, the rustle of leaves—made them glance over their shoulders. Thal remained steady, his eyes fixed ahead, but even he felt the growing weight of the Shadowfern's presence.
They had to reach Kel. The alternative was unthinkable.
As the group neared Kel, the ruins seemed to shift from a place of desolation to one brimming with life. What struck them first was the crowd—an eclectic mix of beings, each stranger than the last. There were Kruul variants, of course, towering with their brutish frames and sharp features, but they walked side by side with creatures none of them had ever seen before.
Orcs, muscular and green-skinned, armed with heavy weapons strapped to their backs, chatted casually with small, stocky Dwarfs who carried packs brimming with tools and mechanical trinkets. Beastkins—a race with animal features who came with pelts in hand and short bows and swords. Humans, too, mingled among the crowd, some with wary glances, others laughing freely as if they belonged here.
But the strangest were the ones who defied explanation—creatures more monster than humanoid. A serpentine being with glowing, translucent skin slithered along the cobblestones, its many eyes blinking independently. Another, covered in scales and feathers, perched on a massive, clawed hand, quietly observing the others.
Nyra slowed her pace, her brow furrowing in disbelief. "What... is this place?"
Valen, equally stunned, turned to Thal. "Kel is supposed to be a city of ruins. A few wandering souls at most. What is this?"
Thal's expression was unreadable as he kept walking. "Kel is a sanctuary. For everyone."
As they reached the gates, towering iron structures etched with glowing runes, they saw guards standing on either side. The guards themselves were as varied as the crowd—a Kruul with a massive halberd stood next to a human clad in armor fashioned from what looked like the shell of a massive beetle. Behind them, a lithe, insectoid figure with multiple arms monitored the crowd with sharp, twitching movements.
The moment the group passed through the gates, a ripple of energy coursed through the air. The runes etched into the gate shimmered briefly, and then, from the ground below, a dome of light surged upward, enclosing the entire city in a shimmering barrier.
"What's that?" Luken asked, staring up at the glowing dome as it pulsed faintly with energy.
"It's protection," Thal said simply. "From everything out there."
Nyra stared at the barrier in awe. "A magic shield? Who built it? Who controls it?"
Thal didn't answer right away, his gaze fixed ahead. "Kel is old. Older than most of its inhabitants. The shield's been here longer than anyone alive can remember. All that matters is it keeps the Shadowfern out."
As they walked deeper into the city, the sights only grew stranger. Stalls lined the streets, selling goods from all corners of the land—dried herbs and glowing stones, weaponry made from bones, and even live animals in cages. Street performers showcased their talents—an ork breathing fire, a Dwarf operating a tiny mechanical dragon that danced in the air.
The air buzzed with life, but there was also an underlying tension. Despite the apparent camaraderie, the way some groups kept their distance hinted at old rivalries that still lingered.
Tar seemed to shrink in on himself slightly as they entered the denser crowds—not from fear, but from the instinct to avoid crushing someone in the press of bodies. He stuck close to Thal's left flank, his massive hands clasped behind his back to avoid accidentally striking passersby. When a small human child pointed at him with wide eyes, whispering "Mama, a cow-man!" to his mother, Tar tilted his head slightly, horns dipping, and made a soft huffing sound that might have been amusement.
Valen found himself staring at a Kruul and a human arguing over the price of a dagger. "I thought Kruul hated humans. How are they living together here?"
"They don't hate," Thal said, his tone even. "Most of them just fear or distrust what they don't understand. Here, they don't have much of a choice. You either coexist or you don't survive."
A moment of silence passed as they took it all in. Nyra's grip tightened on her axe. "Do you really think it's safe here?"
Thal gave her a sidelong glance. "Safe enough, but don't get too comfortable. Even in a sanctuary, there are rules."
As they pressed further into the city, the group couldn't help but feel the weight of unseen eyes on them. They were outsiders here, in a place that seemed to welcome all yet hid a thousand secrets.
And the dome of light overhead? It shimmered faintly, almost alive, as if it were watching them too.
As the group walked through the bustling streets of Kel, the quiet murmurs of the city's inhabitants filled the air, their eyes often flicking toward Thal. While the various races of the city were used to diversity, there was something about Thal that drew their attention. Humans stared curiously, and even the Kruul, who were often so proud of their towering figures, seemed to regard him with a certain wariness.
It wasn't long before Luken, Valen, and Nyra all noticed what the others were staring at—the faint resemblance between Thal and a statue that stood in the centre of the market square. At first, it was easy to dismiss as just coincidence; after all, statues often depicted heroic figures in exaggerated forms—but then it clicked.
The statue was of a giant figure, almost identical in size and build to Thal, but with an intricately carved face that bore a striking resemblance to him, albeit older, more weathered, and with longer hair. The posture of the statue was regal, as if it were meant to represent someone of immense power or importance, and it stood with its hand raised, as though offering a silent greeting to the people of the city.
Nyra stopped in her tracks, her breath catching in her throat as she looked back at Thal. Something tightened in her chest—a sudden, nameless awe she couldn't explain. The realization hit her like a wave: the resemblance wasn't just passing, it was undeniable. The way the statue stood, with its broad shoulders and confident posture, mirrored the way Thal carried himself. It was him—or at least, it was the version of him carved in stone.
Her voice trembled, though she tried to keep it steady. "Thal... I… I know this statue."
Thal turned, his eyes scanning the city briefly before meeting hers. He wasn't surprised by her recognition. He had long ago grown used to the curious stares from those who knew the legend and history of the statues around Kel.
"I see you've noticed," he said, his voice low, almost like an acknowledgment of something old and well known.
Nyra frowned, the confusion clear in her expression. "You... you're that statue?"
Thal didn't answer immediately, his gaze moving from the statue back to the people walking around them. "It's a long story," he said quietly, but there was a weight in his voice, a tiredness that Nyra couldn't quite place.
Valen, ever the observer, had already moved closer to the pedestal, his sharp eyes scanning the weathered base. "There's an inscription here," he called out, his voice carrying that pragmatic edge he used when cataloguing details. He traced the carved letters with his fingers, reading the faded Old Common. "'Thal the Inexorable, who held the line in the Year of the Bleeding Sky, when the Weeping Star fell and the dead city of Kel was founded.'" He paused, running his fingers over the worn numbers at the bottom. "989 A.S. That's... two hundred and ten years ago."
Luken stared at the date, his scholarly instincts warring with disbelief. "You were here at the founding," he breathed, looking from the stone to the living city around them. "The Academy doesn't even have records from that era — just gaps where Kel should be. As if the whole city were... erased from history until it wasn't."
"The Weeping Star," Nyra murmured, her voice barely audible. She stepped closer to the pedestal, her hand hovering near the inscription. "That's in the old stories. The sky tore open. Fire rained down for three days." She looked from the statue to the dome of light shimmering overhead, understanding dawning. "This sanctuary... it was built on that ruin. Founded in the same breath as the disaster."
Thal finally turned to face them fully, his expression stone. "The past doesn't matter anymore," he said, his voice carrying that same quiet finality. But he glanced up at the dome, and for a moment, his gaze seemed to trace the same arc the Weeping Star might have made. "The city was founded so something could survive. The title was given by those who chose to remember what broke, rather than what burned."
He turned toward the inn, his pace steady. "Come. We're attracting attention."
But Nyra lingered, her fingers brushing the cold granite where the date was carved. 989 A.S. The year the sky bled. The year Kel was founded as a dead city. The year Thal became Inexorable.
She hurried to catch up, carrying the weight of that date: the day the world broke, and the day this sanctuary was born from its bones.
As Thal led the group into the inn, they couldn't help but be struck by the sheer size of everything. The door was wide enough to accommodate someone of Thal's stature, towering over the average human, and the walls seemed to stretch up higher than any ordinary building, made for giants like him and other massive figures. The tables were sturdy, carved from wood and stone, their surfaces polished but clearly worn from years of use. The low murmurs of conversation filled the air, punctuated by the clink of mugs and the occasional hearty laugh.
Tar had to duck significantly to enter, his horns scraping the doorframe. Inside, he immediately moved to the corner with the most structural support—instinctively seeking the spot where his weight would be least likely to damage the floorboards. He tested the bench with one hand before sitting, the wood groaning but holding. He positioned himself with his back to the corner, facing the door, eyes scanning the room with the same patient vigilance he'd maintained in the Shadowfern.
When the bartender, a stocky Kruul with broad shoulders and a thick neck, caught sight of Thal, he sighed deeply and wiped a rag over the counter. "Oh, another one of you lot," he muttered under his breath, but loud enough for the group to hear. His tone was resigned, as if this was a regular occurrence for him.
Thal froze. There was a specific weight to the phrase—not "another giant" or "another tall one," but something that implied recognition. The bartender had seen someone with these proportions before. These proportions specifically.
"You've seen another?" Thal asked, his voice low. Curiosity flickered in his golden eyes. It was uncommon enough to find anyone who could distinguish a Nephilim from a Jotun or a very tall human, let alone someone who spoke as if they'd served one yesterday.
The bartender looked up, meeting Thal's gaze with a casual nod. "Yeah, Kael," he said, as if discussing the weather. "Came through here a few days ago. Odd man, but funny in his own way. Lousy at cards, though. Tried to bluff with a straight face and a pair of twos." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Why? You looking for him? He's usually at the Iron Spire around this hour, drinking something expensive and complaining about the rain."
The name hit Thal like a stone dropped in still water. Kael. Not just another of his kind—someone he knew. An old friend from another time, walking around Kel, drinking in bars, losing at cards.
Thal's shoulders tensed, not with fear, but with the sudden weight of memory. He hadn't seen Kael in... how long? Decades? Longer? And now here he was, apparently making a home in the Shadowfern, playing cards with Kruul bartenders and complaining about the weather like a mortal man with nowhere else to be.
Without another word, Thal nodded, and gave the group a small, almost imperceptible gesture to follow him further into the inn. He took a seat at one of the larger tables meant for giants, making sure to choose a corner away from most of the other patrons. The others followed, looking around the inn as they settled down. Tar remained standing until everyone else was seated, then lowered himself onto the reinforced bench with a carefulness that belied his size.
Luken, who had been quiet up until now, glanced at Thal, sensing the tension that had settled over him. "Is everything alright?" he asked, though his voice was careful, as if he was walking on fragile ground. "You reacted to what he said. 'Another one of you lot.' Like he knew what you were."
Thal didn't immediately respond, his eyes lingering on the bartender who had returned to his work. Finally, he spoke, though his words were distant. "It's nothing," he said, the weight of his voice indicating otherwise. "Just... someone I haven't seen in a very long time."
Nyra glanced at him, her brow furrowing. "Kael? Another Nephilim? Here?"
Thal's gaze shifted to her, his eyes softening, though he didn't quite meet her gaze directly. "Seems so," he replied quietly. "And it appears he's making himself comfortable."
Valen, ever the pragmatic one, gave a soft chuckle as he placed his hand on the table. "Old friend? Enemy? Exotic lover? You've got that look."
"None of those," Thal rumbled, though there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Just... someone from before."
But his fingers had tightened almost imperceptibly on the edge of the table, and his gaze kept drifting toward the door, as if expecting the other giant to walk through it at any moment, carrying a hand of bad cards and a complaint about the rain.
The inn's warmth and the bustling atmosphere outside seemed to offer a brief reprieve from the dangers of the Spine and the hardships they had faced, but Thal knew all too well that peace was fleeting. The world outside was just as uncertain as the shadows of his past.
As the bartender approached their table, Thal stood and gave him a respectful nod, signalling for their order. The man didn't comment any further, and soon the table was filled with hearty food and drink.
Tar accepted a massive trencher of meat and root vegetables with a grunt of thanks, eating with methodical efficiency but keeping one eye on the door. When the bartender mentioned Kael's name again while serving ale to a nearby table, Tar's ears twitched, and he glanced at Thal with a look of recognition—he remembered the name from old stories Thal had told, long ago.
For now, at least, they had some time to rest—and in this moment, that was enough.